Flayed Fairytales
by Writer From Rivendell
Summary: Different Fairytales taken and twisted. Learn the truth behind the Frog Prince, Rumpelstilskin, and etc! NEW: Dear lord, she's moved on to Charles Perrault.
1. The Frog Prince

Disclaimer: I do not own the Frog Prince. If I did, I probably wouldn't be doing this, butchering it horribly. Enough said. A/N - This was written quite late at night, while I was somewhat out of it. Hence, it's very stupid, and very short. Basically, this is the Prince's verison of events. If you notice any spelling/usage mistakes, please let me know.  
  
My name is Harold. I am a frog prince. Yes, that's right, a frog prince. Don't look at me like that. I'm telling the truth! After all, how many frogs do you know that can talk? Not many, I'd wager. I'm one of a rare breed. Ahem. Anyway, if I may continue with my tale . . .  
I was not always a frog. Indeed, a week ago I was human, living in a castle, eating meals fit for a king, which I will be someday. Just as soon as my father croaks. Oh dear. Bad pun. It seems that being a frog is getting to me. No - I must not get off track! It is difficult being a frog - one finds that one's attention span is relatively short. I must concentrate!  
I used to be a human. I lived in a castle, ate three square (Square? The plates were round!) meals a day, and wore clothes that would have been the envy of any other man of the kingdom. Now I am a frog, I live in a pond, eat different bugs for dinner, and hop around unclothed, for what frog has a need for clothing? Of course, all of this was before I met the witch.  
I didn't mean to meet her. I was just taking a nice ride through the forest when I randomly happened to bump into her. All right, so I didn't bump into her so much as run her over . . . but I can't be held responsible for that! It was my horse's fault, I swear!  
Anyway, she cursed me. Cast some spell over me, told me that I'd be a frog until some maiden kissed me, then carried me to this pond and threw me in. Finding the princess was easy. She found me. It was the rest that was difficult.  
I was sitting in my pond, minding my own business and waiting for something to happen when she appeared. Princess Annette. Before I had a chance to even say as much as "Hello", she saw me sitting on my lily pad, smirked evilly, reached into her pocket, and tossed a golden ball at me. I only had a split second to dodge out of the way. As it was, my favorite lily pad seat was ruined!  
"Hey!" I yelled at her. "Watch where you're throwing that thing!"  
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as a shrewd, calculating look entered her face. "Oh, I am so sorry my dear frog. I did not mean to throw my ball at you. Indeed, I was not watching what I did, and now my beautiful golden ball is at the bottom of yonder pond, where I dare not fetch it, for fear of ruining my gown. Please, Master Frog - will you bring it back to me?"  
I have always been a fool for sweet voices, and let me tell you, hers was sweet. What with her silver tones, and her fluttering eyelashes, I was completely enthralled. I only just remembered the curse. "Certainly, lady. I will fetch your ball - if you will do only one thing for me." I managed to say.  
"Whatever you wish, Master Frog - if only you will bring me back my ball!"  
I nodded, and dove down to retrieve her golden play thing. It did not take me long, and soon I was back at the surface, her ball in my mouth. (Hey - I'm only a frog! I don't have opposable thumbs!) Carefully I spat it out onto the grass at her feet.  
Wrinkling her nose, she picked it up and wiped it off on the front of her gown. "Thanks," she said brusquely, and turned to walk away.  
"Wait Princess! Wait! You have to take me home with you - let me eat off your plate and sleep off your pillow!" I cried, hopping to keep up with her long strides. "You have to kiss me!"  
Apparently, she did not hear me, for she began to break into a run. Frustrated, I only just made it through the gates and over the drawbridge, but was cut off at the front door, where I had to wait for three hours in the rain before my voice was heard, and I was let in by the king himself.  
"Annette! Daughter! You promised this frog that you would let him eat off your plate and sleep on your pillow - now is time to make good on your promise!" The king proclaimed, after throwing open the door and having one of his servants carry me inside, where the royal family was eating their evening meal.  
The footman carrying me gently placed me beside the princess's plate, where a large amount of food was heaped.  
Whoever said that princesses have delicate appetites must not have seen Annette. She packed away enough food for a person twice her size, leaving only a few crumbs for me. I didn't mind - I ate them readily, carefully picking them up with tongue, and trying not to look up at the disgusted expression that was written across the princess's face as she watched me eat.  
I finished eating relatively quickly, considering that I had to use my tongue to pick everything up, and soon found myself being carried to the princess's room.  
"Perfect," I thought. "I'll sleep on her pillow, in the morning she'll kiss me, and I'll be a prince again!"  
However, things did not go according to plan. As soon as I arrived in the princess's bed chamber, she tackled me, thrust me into a pillow case, and began swinging me around, only to let me go flying seconds later. As if that was not enough, she threw me against the wall, and tried to step on me.  
It was then that I decided what I must do. Avoiding her low calls for me to come hither, I drew myself up to my full height, and said in as dignified a voice as I could, "Princess, you have failed."  
That certainly caught her attention. "What?" She asked, looking puzzled.  
"I said, you have failed. I am not a frog - rather, I am a prince under a witch's spell. I came here in hopes of your kissing me, and me taking you as my wife, but to no avail. You have abused me, mistreated me, tried to kill me - to be quite honest, I can't take it any more!"  
With that last parting word, I hopped out the window, and back to my pond. I've given up looking for a princess - really, if any old maiden will break the spell, I'd much rather find someone who is not of royal blood but treats me well.  
For, after all, if they abuse you as a frog, how will they treat you as a husband?  
  
A/N - Please review and tell me what you think. I am thinking of doing another flayed fairy tale, and any and all comments on this one would be helpful. 


	2. Rumpelstiltskin

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin. If I did, would I be doing this to it, taking it and ripping it apart?  
  
Well . . . maybe.   
  
A/N: By popular request, here is another installment of my Flayed Fairytales. Okay. So it wasn't popular request - only one review, but hey. If one person liked it, I know I haven't failed. Please note that this is not my best work - the miller's daughter seems to have a - rather sarcastic - mind of her own.   
  
Sometimes I think my father is an idiot. Most of the time, I know he is. After all, how dumb can you be, to tell the king that your daughter can spin straw into gold? Even if it is true, you don't go around telling people things like that. It's just not good publicity. Especially when the king is a ruthless tyrant that will stop at nothing to get you to prove that your daughter can indeed do what she claims. Sigh . . . I love my father - I only wish he were more intelligent. Or knew how to keep his mouth shut. If he was not such a braggart, I would not be here now, locked in a room full of straw.   
  
It's not the straw itself that's bad . . . it's the fact that it keeps making me sneeze. And it's prickly - very uncomfortable to lie upon. Oh well. Tomorrow morning, if I don't produce, I get tossed out of the kingdom. Hooray! Banishment! Just what we all want. On the bright side, if I am banished, I won't have to put up with my dunderhead of a father any longer.  
  
Drat! I swear, this castle needs to get a good exterminator. I just heard another rat moving amongst the straw. At least, I hope it was a rat. What else could be making a noise like that? A sort of humming noise. A spinning wheel sort of noise. Can rats spin?   
  
It must not be a rat. Rats can't spin - they don't have thumbs.   
  
Suddenly all the bogey stories my mother used to tell me when I was a child are coming back to mind. Ulp. There aren't really such things as evil fairies, are there? No -of course not. Just like Father Christmas isn't real, so are fairies not. They're imaginary. I hope.   
  
I have to see. I need to know what it is that is making the strange noise I'm hearing. I'm going to look.   
  
It's a little man? What? What is he doing? Is he . . . yes. I don't believe it. He's picking up the straw and spinning it into gold. I don't believe this. It's got to be a trick of the light, or something. Maybe it's from hay fever.   
  
No. He's quite real. I can assuredly say this because he just tried to take a bite out of my leg. Great. Now things have gone from bad to worse . . . I can honestly say that this experience is worse than the time I was supposed to clean the privy, and ended up falling in. In the morning, the king will throw open this door, and find my flayed body lying here, with bite marks here and there where the little man tried to eat me. Lovely. I just feel so cheerful right now . . . I'm about to be eaten by a freaky old man who isn't even three feet tall!  
  
Wait . . . he's not biting me. He's chewing on my apron pocket - he must be able to smell the bread crumbs that I have in there, wrapped in an old rag. How, I don't know, but he probably wants them. Either that or he wants my necklace, and why would he want something like that?  
  
I gave him the bread crumbs. He threw them on the floor and stamped on them. Apparently, that's not what he wants. I'd better try giving him the necklace, before he chews through my apron.   
  
That's better. He's stopped gnawing at the cloth - now he's fingering the necklace and giving me a rather funny look.   
  
"Spin straw?" The little old man says.   
  
"What?" I ask him. "What do you want to do?"  
  
"Spin straw for necklace."  
  
Oh. So he wants to spin the straw in exchange for taking my necklace. I understand. Goodness, but his English skills are horrible! They're the worst thing about him - that or the smell. He smells like spices. Really old, really manky spices.  
  
"Er, very well. That sounds like a fair trade." I manage to say, without having to smell him.   
  
He nods excitedly, sticks my necklace in his mouth and swallows it, much to my dismay, then begins to spin again. Slowly but surely the pile of straw decreases until all that is left are a few wisps in the corners of the room. Sitting in front of me are ten spindles full of spun gold.   
  
The little man nods and looks up at me. "Good? Good?" He asks.   
  
I nod, too amazed to say anything. "Very good." I manage to squeak after a moment's pause.   
  
He bows, and before I can say higgeldy-piggeldy, disappears, taking the bad smell with him. I sigh, relieved. "Good riddance," I can't help but think. "Now I can breathe again!"  
  
At just that moment, the king enters the room. Seeing the spools of gold on the floor, he grabs me by the arm, and leads me to another room filled with straw. "Spin this straw into gold," he commands, "Or I'll have you burned at the stake as a witch."  
  
I sigh and roll my eyes. "Great," I mutter. "I've gone from being banished to being eaten to being burned in the course of two days. Aren't I lucky?"  
  
The king, of course, does not answer me.   
  
As soon as I enter the room I begin to sneeze, and don't stop until almost twelve hours later. This I know because I can watch the sun out the tiny window in this tower room, and it was dawn when I entered here and started sneezing, and now it's pitch black outside. All the stars are out.   
  
I'd better try my hand at spinning this stuff. After all, I don't want to die without at least trying. Who knows - maybe it doesn't take any talent. Maybe my dunderhead of a father was right, and I can spin the stuff into gold.   
  
Or maybe I've just gotten so desperate I'm willing to try anything, so long as it means that I won't be burned at the stake.   
  
I don't want to die!  
  
All right. Just calm down. I know that I can do this. Just concentrate. Augh! The straw   
  
keeps breaking off in my hand! It doesn't want to spin into thread. Spin, drat you - spin!  
  
It won't spin. I am doomed. I might as well stuff my clothes with this straw - at least then I'll burn faster. Sigh.   
  
"Spin straw for ring?" Asks a voice at my foot.   
  
I look down. Standing next to me is a little old woman, who is pointing at the ring hanging on a thong around my neck.   
  
Quickly I tear it off. "Yes, yes! Spin straw for ring," I say, thrusting it under her nose.   
  
Grinning up at me toothlessly, she takes it, swallows it, sits down at the spinning wheel and begins to spin. Before long, it is morning, and she has spun all the straw into gold.   
  
"Go now. Goodbye." She says, and vanishes.   
  
Just then the King enters. As before, he sees the gold, makes sure that it's real, and then leads me to another room, a different, larger room full of . . . hay?   
  
I stare at him, puzzled. "Where's the straw?" I manage to say.   
  
He looks at me apologetically. "There was none. I'm afraid that you'll have to make do with hay.   
  
If you don't, then your punishment will be beheading."  
  
I decide not to comment, and instead concentrate on spinning. Before long, I have managed to actually spin the stuff into gold. "Huh," I think. "Perhaps father was right."  
  
Within the hour, I have finished spinning the hay into gold.   
  
As I am threading the last of the golden thread onto a bobbin, the little old man appears, along with his wife. When they see the room is empty, they become angry, and begin to yell at me in some unintelligible language.   
  
I ignore them, and continue to work until the king walks in. "Have you finished?" He asks in a bored tone.   
  
I nod, and look up at him, hoping to be freed from spinning. "Yes. Have you?" I ask, watching the little old man and woman out of the corner of my eye.   
  
"Whatever do you mean, wench?" Asks the king, angry.   
  
I suppress a laugh as I watch the man and woman begin to attach themselves to the king's clothing. "I mean, have you finished with me? Am I free to go now?"  
  
"No," says the king in a bored voice. "I have more hay for you to spin before I let you leave. I want you to do more work for me, until my treasury is full."  
  
I try hard not to snigger as the man and woman begin to pop the brass buttons off of his clothing and eat them, one by one. Soon there are none left, and the king's clothing is lying on a pile on the floor around him.   
  
He shrieks and clutches at his underclothes. "No! Servants - help me!" He cries.   
  
His staff masses around him, able to do nothing more than gape.   
  
"Don't just stand there you idiots!" He yells. "Help me!"  
  
In all the confusion I manage to slip away, out the palace doors, through the courtyard, across the moat, and into the forest, where I am now. Where I have found out what I wanted to know about everything. Like why the old man and woman could spin straw into gold. And why they ate metal.   
  
It turns out that the old man and woman were a kind of hobgoblin that rejoices in helping people in need. They were servants of the fairy king, and were bound to his will, until the night of the Autumn Feast, when they escaped and made their way to the castle, where they helped me. When I gave them the necklace and the ring, they were bound instead to my will. When I wanted them to spin straw, they did it for me without question.   
  
All of this I found in the lawyer's papers that were shipped to me today. I'm being sued for vandalizing the fairy king's property - his servants. The payment he expects? My first born child.   
  
Right. If the fairy king is anything like his subject that delivered the papers today, then I have nothing to worry about. All I have to do is step on him, and squish him flat. That or guess his name. The old tales that my mother told me were right.   
  
Beware of bogeys.   
  
A/N - Any and all feedback is appreciated. I know that this installment was rather unfunny - after all, Rumpelstiltskin is a rather unfunny fairy tale, if you think about it, but the next one ought to be better. Watch out, Sleeping Beauty - here comes the Writer From Rivendell. :o) 


	3. Sleeping Beauty

Disclaimer - Don't own it, don't wish to own it . . . need I say more?  
  
A/N - Almost seven months have gone by since the last time I updated this thing . . . this chapter has been sitting around on my hard drive, half-finished, for almost all of those seven months. Just know that no, I'm not dead (but thanks for the funeral - really, my eulogy was lovely!), and yes, updates will be faster, if I don't end up getting distracted by original fiction again. ^^;  
  
Without further ado, onto the chapter!   
  
All right, all right. Now, before anyone gets confused, I want to take the opportunity to say it Wasn't My Fault. It's not my fault that stupid bint wasn't smart enough to go out and find me herself - and it certainly wasn't my fault that her parents weren't smart enough to invite me to the christening. Honestly, in the long run it doesn't matter that much to me - or at least, it shouldn't. If it weren't for that farking prince, things might be okay right about now - but of course he had to go and play the hero . . . sigh. I suppose I have to start somewhere, before I start ranting. All right. This is how it happened - or rather, how I became know as, "That fairy who botched the job she was sent to do and is now held responsible for the incident known as Sleeping Beauty."  
  
  
  
I didn't mean to, really. I've never liked the idea of giving enchantments as gifts - really, they never turn out well, and you're left wondering what went wrong twenty years later when the kid you enchanted turns out to be a completely and total failure, slaying dragons and getting married and producing heirs instead of living happily ever after, like they're supposed to. I mean, I'm not saying that producing heirs and slaying dragons isn't a good thing, but - really! When you slay a dragon, you're supposed to marry the princess of the kingdom that you slew it for, and where's the fun in that? Suppose that you have a childhood sweetheart you would much rather marry - what then? Are they just supposed to wander off and join a convent or a monastery, or get married to someone else and end up a widow/widower with eighty cats and nothing resembling a real life? Oh. I'm ranting again, aren't I? Dear me - let's see.   
  
I think it started over the lack of an invitation. There were thirteen fairies, you see, and only twelve plates. Plates are only sold in packs of twelve - you think they would learn. Anyway, how it turned out was that one of us didn't get an invitation. That one of us ended up being me. Normally, this wouldn't have upset me - but that day it did. I'd spent half the week getting ready, preparing the gift and whatnot - I felt that it was only fair that I still was allowed to attend. Unfortunately, the king and queen didn't quite see things my way. When I arrived at the palace - on time, unlike some of my so-called friends - the guard asked for my invitation. When I told them that it was all an amusing mix-up, and that I really did have an invitation but it'd gotten lost in the mail, they kindly but firmly told me no. By giving me a kick out the door.   
  
Honestly, if you were a fairy who had spent half a week getting ready for what could become the greatest party in half a century, what would you do? I knew what to do. I hiked up my skirts, walked around to the back door, and let myself in. After all, there are some things you have to do for yourself.   
  
The party was great, I have to admit that much. There was a ton of food, really good music to dance to, and the gifts were to die for - you almost forgot it was a christening until you waltzed past the cradle and saw the princess in her christening gown. Maybe that was part of the problem. When I waltzed past the princess's cradle, her parents, seeing my wand clutched in my hand, noted that I was a fairy, and called me forward to speak with them. It was around then the fact that I hadn't been formally invited arose, and became a problem. Apparently, their royal majesties thought that I had come to gatecrash the party.   
  
I tried to explain that such a thing simply wasn't true - that I hadn't come to crash it at all, that my invitation had been lost in the mail - but to no avail. Two guards came to escort me to the door, and I was left with no choice - I had to leave.   
  
Or, at least that's what they thought. I swear, I didn't mean to! It was all a misunderstanding . . . sort of. I lost my temper, and in a fit of rage, I began to threaten the king and queen, telling them that I would curse their kingdom, that their head gardener would never be able to grow anything but dandelions, that the queen would lose her voice during a royal proclamation, that the king would never be able to wear pants in public again, that their prized spinners would all prick their fingers on their spindles and die - normal fairy threats that no one takes seriously.   
  
No one not including, apparently, his royal highness, the Crown Prince. Sword drawn, he came at me threatening me bodily harm if I dared to curse the royal family, etc, etc. It was all I could do not to lose it and start cursing him. Which is, um, what I meant to do. If it hadn't been for his stupid sword, I wouldn't have tripped, and my spell - meant to cause the prince instant death upon his pricking his finger on a spindle - ricocheted off a nearby shield that was hanging on the wall, and instead hit the princess.   
  
Needless to say, I fled the hall humiliated, and vowed never to show my face in there again.   
  
One of the other guests told me later that my spell couldn't be lifted, and that instead they modified it so that the princess would not die but only sleep. Poor kid. If I'd of had my way, she wouldn't be under a spell at all, but hey, at any rate, I got a party out of it and she'll get a long rest.   
  
I only hope that when she wakes up she won't go pointing fingers and seeking me out to curse me. 


	4. Cinderella

Disclaimer–I don't own it, don't want to. As far as I'm concerned, it's the property of Charles Perrault (yah, I know, I've strayed away from the Brothers Grave. Er, Grimm.)   
  
A/N–Here it be in all its glory (or lack thereof). Please note that at the moment I'm on a Discworld high, and that because of that, almost anything seems funny to me. If you don't like what I've done, please, by all means, tell me.   
  
Someone. Get me out of here. I mean it. There is only so much protocol, so much etiquette you can learn before you start to slowly go insane. I have started to slowly go insane. I don't care which fork to use to indicate that the dinner speeches have run over. I don't care what side of a wine glass you're supposed to sip out of at a wedding to ensure good luck for the bride and groom. In fact–scratch that–I simply don't care. Somebody save me!   
  
I suppose I should explain. Hi. My name's Eleanor, better known as Ella, better known as Cinderella. Yeah, I'm probably the one that you've read about in the tabloids, the one whose evil stepsisters forced her to do all their cooking and cleaning before calling her names and barring her entrance from the ball, so she had to call on her fairy godmother to help her, etc, etc. The tabloids got a few things wrong, though. For one thing, I didn't have to leave by midnight. I ran out of the ball at midnight because I was afraid if I stayed any longer I'd be stuck there for all eternity, discussing which type of cheese is more suited to souffle, eventually dying from boredom. For another, no, I didn't go to the ball in order to win over the prince. I went to the ball because–hey, it was a way of spiting my stepsisters. And because there's always great food at parties like that.   
  
Not that it matters, now. You probably all know the rest–boy meets girl over party platter, boy tells girl she is the most beautiful maiden at the ball, girl says, "Yeah, whatever", boy asks girl to dance, girl says no, girl is dragged onto the dance floor, boy falls madly in love with girl. Pathetic, don't you think? I mean, for cripe's sake, I stepped on his feet at least three times. I am not a graceful dancer, whatever they might say. It's all I can do to do the Macarena. Apparently, though, this didn't bother the prince. At midnight, he was down on bended knee, declaring his undying love for me. Naturally, upon hearing royalty say that they could "never live without you by my side" and "how have I gone so long without knowing of your beauty", I fled.   
  
Running was probably the wrong thing to do, now that I think of it. I mean, for one thing, I was in high heels–glass high-heels nonetheless–and a full skirt. I may be a good runner when I'm on level ground, barefoot, in just the homespun dress I wear for cleaning, but not in high heels and a full skirt. I tripped, went flying. Next thing I know, I was running through a muddy field wearing only one shoe, with my skirt torn half-off, babbling incoherently about how the guards would never catch me, because "I am the lizard queen!" Whaat? I had to do something to scare them off. And it worked. Kind of. They stopped chasing me and instead picked up my shoe.   
  
You probably know the rest. The prince ended up tracking me down thanks to the weird shoe size (I have really wide feet), I ended up being taken to his castle where he proposed marriage, I was forced into saying yes, we're going to get married any day now . . . all that jazz. I, for one, am thoroughly sick of it. I tried calling on my fairy godmother for help–the conversation went something like this:   
  
Me: "I'm really sick of being stuck here. Could you get me out?"   
  
Her: "I'm sorry, I can't. Fairy Code declares that as soon as you have your heart's desire, I'm free to leave you. I'm not your fairy godmother any longer–I'm moving to Tahiti."   
  
Me: "This isn't my heart's desire! I hate the prince–for one thing, he has an annoying name. I mean, Charming, come on!"   
  
Her: "Oh, I'm sorry, that's my pager–I have to be leaving now. Enjoy the wedding! 'Bye!"   
  
Knowing her, she's probably already in Tahiti, sitting on a beach sipping a virgin strawberry daiquiri, or something, complaining about how the "youth of today are so ungrateful". Which brings me to where I am. On a sofa-like thing, in a sitting room. Waiting for my next lesson in protocol. Naturally, it's not where I'm going to stay. I have plans. As soon as the protocol instructor comes in here, I'm planning to–oh! faint. It's what the women around here are fond of doing whenever they're in a situation they don't care for. They're almost always carried to their rooms, unless they're guests, in which case they are taken to a guest room. I'll most likely be taken to my rooms, which are just across the hall from the princess's own rooms. As soon as I'm carried there, I'll plant my note on the desk and climb out one of the windows. My rooms overlook the gardens, where almost no one ventures these days, so chances are I won't be seen.   
  
Oh–the note. I almost forgot. Today, while in one of my lessons, I took the time to write a short, tragic note telling the prince that I love him, but that I am betrothed to another. And that I'm under a curse, and that I'm afraid that I was bitten by a werewolf at the last full moon, and that I may or may not be related to his archenemy, Prince Cunning, or whatever his name is. Oh–and that I did a reading and we're star-crossed lovers. If he wants to live to rule his father's kingdom, we can never be together. Yah, it's a far stretch, I know, but these people aren't exactly the brightest stars in the sky, if you see what I mean.   
  
Speaking of which, here comes the protocol teacher now! Here I go . . .   
  
-.-   
  
_The Prince Formerly Known As Charming would like to take this time to say that if anyone has seen his beloved Eleanor, better known as Cinderella, wandering the kingdom, would they please tell her that he still loves her, even though she is a werewolf/under a curse/will be the death of him/is related to his archenemy/is betrothed to another, for he is relatively sure that all of these things can be fixed, if she will just give him time._


End file.
